


Never His

by ourdreamsrealized



Category: Iron Man (Comics), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Tony Stark, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Friendship, Hurt, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Love Confessions, Love Triangles, Male-Female Friendship, Marriage, Mild Language, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Rejection, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 13:12:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18366707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourdreamsrealized/pseuds/ourdreamsrealized
Summary: Tony hadn’t expected you. Nor did he expect he would lose you without ever really having you.





	Never His

**Author's Note:**

> This is a submission for Star’s Marvel Mayhem hosted by @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan.
> 
> “I won’t pretend that I deserve you. I am faithless. I have done unforgivable things. And I am broken.” for Tony x Reader

There were a lot of things Tony had done in his life that he had never expected to do. He did not expect to start his own business and be successful at it. He did not expect to produce weapons that actually were used to kill innocents. He did not expect to survive stopping their production. He did not expect to become iron man.

But on top of all that, he did not expect to meet you. Beautiful, wonderful you.

You, who were everything he wasn’t.

It was a cool night in early may. Cool for that time of year, enough to make Tony wear a leather jacket on top of his sports coat until he got to the bar. Once inside, he had the attendant take it from him to check it in. It only took him a half hour to get drunk, and less than that to notice your group of friends.

He hadn’t noticed you. Not at first. But you had noticed him. Thank god. He wouldn’t have made it home that night if you hadn’t. When he approached you, his eyes were on one of your friends, the one nursing a pink cosmopolitan and wearing a hot pink romper. He flirted with her a bit, and she seemed interested, even offering him her number.

She wrote it on a napkin, which he stuffed in his pocket to be forgotten, possibly lost in the wash.

But you, he could never forget.

You, who pulled him from the curb, wet and more than a lot intoxicated. You, who called his home. You, who did not freak out when a robot answered you. You, who took him to Stark tower, up to his room. You, who cleaned him up and put him to bed.

You, who denied him.

You, who left him a note on a napkin in his kitchen. One that told him to stay safe. No name. Just a smiley face.

That napkin stayed in his desk drawer.

He thought he would never see you again, but, lo and behold, he spots you at one of his parties, clad in a stunning, curve-hugging gown. You wore a dazzling smile, one that made him stop in his tracks and just stare. As he did, he took two glasses from a passing tray and made his way toward you, weaving through the crowd and offering quick, fleeting greetings to those who acknowledged him as their host.

“Come here often?” Those were his first sober words to you as he held out the champagne he had managed to snag. The question made you toss your head back in melodic laughter, a sound that made his heart skip a beat.

He spent the rest of the night talking to you, learning your name, your occupation, even some stuff about your family and hobbies. You had asked him similar questions, and, although few were personal, he didn’t mind answering them for you. The conversation went on for several minutes, maybe even longer than he thought, initially, and he was just in the middle of asking if he could take you to lunch or dinner to thank you for your assistance that one, drunken night when some man he recognized as a big time stock broker, a man he invited, came over.

Said man wrapped his arm around the column of your waist and leaned in to press a kiss to your awaiting lips.

The action hurt Tony more than it should, and he found himself downing the rest of his drink as the two of you had a conversation of your own. Tony cared little about the words being exchanged, something along the lines of him apologizing for his absence and you saying it was fine, that you were just talking to a friend.

A friend. That’s what he was. Well, it was better than “the lowlife I saved from the street who also had been hitting on my friend in front of me.”

Tony’s time with you ended then, but before you left, you handed him your phone number, saying that you would be more than delighted to take him up on his offer.

His smile was half-hearted as he took the piece of paper from your manicured fingers and watched you go, a goodbye on his chapped lips.

By the time everyone left that night, he was in the bathroom, puking up all the alcohol he tried to drown himself with. It was when his stomach was completely empty, his temple resting on the side of the cool toilet bowl, that he realized he still had a chance.

He could woo you, and woo you he did. Starting with flowers when he met you at the little bistro for his “thank you” dinner followed by walking you home. Of course, your stupid boyfriend was there, at the door, welcoming you in.

Damn it. The two of you were living together?

He didn’t think the two of you were that serious, but he wouldn’t let that stop him. No.

He called you again within the week, asking you to write him in for one of your lunch breaks. You joined him at a local cafe, one close to your work, and one he just so happened to enjoy himself. He had complimented you, and he attempted to pay for the meal. You stopped him, saying you would pick up the check this time. He protested, and you placate him by saying that, next time, he could treat you.

He’d take it, if it meant he’d be able to see you again.

And your friendship began like that. It never amounted to anything more, even though it was clear your relationship with the stock broker was far from perfect. Jim was his name, and Tony found that he despised Jim the more you talked about him, even if the story was a good one. He hated spending time with the two of you, but he did it to keep up appearances, going far enough to get a date as well as expensive wine. Each time a double date was set, he brought a different woman with him…and a different bottle of wine.

With time, he learned that Jim did not like him either. He seemed to somehow know Tony’s intentions, and even you let it slip once that a fight had broken out over your friendship with him.

It was wrong. Tony knew it was, but he liked that he got between the two of you at times.

Well. He did until that night.

It was well over a year since he had met you, and he had been a bit more obvious with his affection towards you lately, spending more time with you as well as talking trash about Jim every chance he got. The reason? Jim had proposed, and you had said yes.

It was an impressive ring you wore on your left hand, but Tony was certain he could do better. You deserved better.

And that’s precisely what he told you when you appeared at his tower, trench coat drenched, hair sticking to your face and neck. Jim wanted you to quit your job because you worked different hours than him. You didn’t want to leave your passion. Tony thought Jim was being an ass.

“You should leave him. Give him his ring back, and tell him to go to hell.”

You had asked why he hated your fiance so much, and his answer?

“I like you too much.” He closed the distance between the two of you with those words, kissing you like he wanted to for so long, the alcohol in his system only adding to his bravery.

For a split moment, it was bliss. He felt you pucker your lips against his, felt you returning his passion, but then you pushed him away, wiping your mouth with the sleeve of his sweatshirt.

You were cold. He didn’t want you to get sick.

You yelled at him then, asking him what he had thought he was doing. Telling him that you were not that kind of woman. That he could not just force himself on you like that.

And then, god, you were crying. Worse than when you first came to him.

“I thought you were my friend.”

“I am.” He had assured you, but to no avail.

You left without a word, ignoring his pleas, his texts, his calls. It killed him. He had tried everything: flowers, gifts, visiting you in person.

Nothing worked.

And then, the dreaded day arrived, and he didn’t even get an invitation. He heard it on the news.

“In others news today, esteemed stock broker, Jim Spacer is getting married.”

His heart lodged in his throat as he swallowed thickly. He didn’t even have the chance to tell you how he felt. How he truly felt. And he’d be damned if you married Jim without knowing.

“FRIDAY?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Where is the wedding of Jim Spacer taking place?”

He was there in ten minutes, bursting the church doors open, ignoring the gasps and horror-stricken looks. His focus, his everything, was on you, clad in the whitest dress he had ever seen, and lord, did you look gorgeous.

“Tony? What are you–?”

He didn’t let you finish, prefacing his confession with this, “I won’t pretend that I deserve you. I am faithless. I have done unforgivable things. And I am broken.” He went on to talk about what he thought of you when he first saw you, truly saw you, leaning over him while he sat on the filthy sidewalk, a beer bottle in his hand. Your face was blurry, but it was your voice that shook him to his core.

You were so gentle. So kind. So angelic.

He spoke of how he fell in love with your personality, how he enjoyed to get to know who you were as a person. How happy you made him.

“I love you. I do. More than anything. And I want to try to prove myself worthy of you, if you’ll let me.”

A hush fell over the place of worship. Your eyes sparkled with unshed tears as you looked at him, but he could not tell if they were tears of joy or sorrow. He hoped the former.

“Sir.” It was the priest that broke the silence. “I regret to inform you, but that part of the ceremony is over. The woman and man that stand before you are husband and wife.”

Just like that, Tony’s world shattered. Murmurs carried to his ears, harsh snickers and snide remarks that hurt but could not outweigh the agony that fell upon his heart.

You were never his, and you never would be.


End file.
